


Vigilantes (And The Company Girls Who Love Them)

by cadesama



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Case Fic, F/F, Multi, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-04
Updated: 2009-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadesama/pseuds/cadesama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monica has trouble on her hands when not only a Level Five escapee comes to town, but Elle and Claire come chasing after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vigilantes (And The Company Girls Who Love Them)

**Author's Note:**

> This is set vaguely in V3, pre-The Eclipse Part 1 and was originally written for the 3_ships exchange on LJ.

Reeling, Claire stumbled, eyes on Albert Barksdale's dark, grim smile as he gathered the alley shadow into his hand. Her mouth went dry with anticipation, but his attention was not on her. It was beyond her, trained sharply on the entrance of the alley.

The patter of quick footfalls edged into Claire's consciousness. Her partner had caught up.

“Monica, duck!” Claire called out. Her attention diverted, she felt more than saw Barksdale disappear.

Black, insubstantial knives of shadow scythed overhead as Monica dropped to the pavement, her short association with Claire no hindrance to her intuitive combat sense. Claire pressed against the brick wall. She tried to catch her breath, one arm wrapped around her middle, feeling the seep of blood slow as her organs righted themselves and her skin knitted back together.

Monica popped back up, rolling smoothly to her feet with athleticism that was just _cool_. She scanned the dark dead end of the alley angrily, letting out a puff of air that stirred her bangs.

“He's gone,” she griped.

“Yeah,” Claire said, pushing away from the wall with one arm. “That trick wasn't in his file.”

She walked gingerly over to the other girl – other _woman_ – reaching out a comforting hand. Her arm was streaked with blood, and she remembered belatedly that other people weren't so accustomed to it. Maybe Monica didn't notice. She didn't shake the gesture off.

“We'll find him. We got this far already,” Claire said.

Monica half-turned with a grin that made Claire's pulse pound.

“Oh, he ain't free _yet_.” She reached a hand up and touched lightly at the ear piece Claire hadn't noticed earlier. “Micah, you there? Good. Those red light cams over on Canal still friendly with you?”

Claire had no idea what she was talking about, but knew a strategy when she heard one. She turned in a circle, craning her neck to get a good look at any nearby cameras.

“How about the security cameras?” she offered. Monica ticked an eyebrow up at her quick comprehension, and relayed the suggestion to Micah.

There were several long moments of back and forth between Monica and Micah as they sorted through the cameras, trying to trace their erstwhile villain. Claire closed her eyes, trying and failing to visualize the map of New Orleans she had so casually left behind at her hotel room.

“Got it!” Monica crowed, and Claire's eyes snapped open, meeting Monica's exhilarated eyes with her own. Monica bounced on her feet, and then jumped slightly to pull down the fire escape ladder on the alley wall, ascending quickly. She turned to peer down at Claire, throwing an invitation down to her, “Our baddie is on the move, two blocks over, we can take him from the roof. You coming?”

Claire hesitated, looking down the alley again, focusing on the shadows. It wouldn't be long before daylight faded completely, and Barksdale had the advantage. They should move quickly.

As good as her thoughts, Claire seized the first rung of the ladder, pulling herself up with a grunt. Monica waited until Claire got to the first level of the fire escape, before winking and taking off like a shot up the stairs. Shaking her head at Monica's surprising – but still infectious – enthusiasm. Claire did her best to catch up.

On top of the building, with New Orleans laid out before them, Monica rechecked with Micah over the headset.

“That way,” she said, pointing the length of the street as she skipped lightly over to the adjoining roof, moving with a fluid grace Claire hadn't seen in all her years of gymnastics and cheerleading.

Claire followed, and then they were off, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, and zigzagging under Micah's instruction to cut Barksdale off. As they ran, Claire couldn't help but look over at her companion in admiration.

When she first read Monica's file, she was jealous. A vigilante with a city of her own, urban legends springing up around her mysterious appearances, and real arrests of real criminals to her name, Monica was everything Claire had ever wanted to be, everything she wanted to use her ability for. The opportunity to meet Monica, to get the training that everyone else in her life denied her, was the exact reason Claire had taken the Barksdale case as the Company raced against time to lock down the Level Five escapees and keep them out of Arthur Petrelli's grasp.

Making contact had been easier than Claire thought it would be at first, but then, most of her experience offering help was with her prickly bio-family and her protective, but occasionally condescending father. But Claire knew the guy, and Monica knew the streets, so it didn't exactly take a hard sell.

Monica signaled silently at Claire to slow, hand once more at her ear piece.

“You sure?” she whispered. Her eyes flickered over to Claire's, nodding once Micah came through with the confirmation.

They crept quietly to the edge of the building, facing West. Claire squinted into the setting sun, feeling anxiety settle in her stomach as the shadows around them lengthened.

Below them, exiting the alley onto the city streets, was Barksdale. He walked quickly, but still edged close to the shadows, hand reaching out to skim along them.

“He must like how they feel,” Claire whispered, drawing a look from Monica.

“That ain't all he's gonna feel,” she quipped.

“So what's the plan?”

Monica shrugged and smiled. “The plan is we clobber him. You still got your tazer?”

Claire pulled the weapon from her jacket, brandishing it for show.

“I'll distract him, and you drop him, okay?”

“Okay,” Claire said, feeling her adrenaline start to pump.

Micah must have issued some kind of protest, because Monica grabbed the ear piece off her head suddenly, shoving it in a pocket. With one last, impish lift of her eyebrows, she dove off the building, landing on top of their target.

Tucking her tazer into the waistband of her jeans, Claire opened her arms and stepped off the ledge, crashing hard into the pavement. Her leg snapped underneath her, bone ripping through denim to protrude through her jeans.

“Damn it,” Claire swore softly as she twisted her leg around to force it back together. It was only three floors. It shouldn't have been so bad.

In her peripheral vision, she saw Monica bend, dodging another shadow-blade and turning her crouch into a sweeping kick that took Barksdale's legs out from under him. He was up again far quicker than a man that size, broader than Claire's dad and twice the weight, should be able to move. He backed up, letting Monica close on him, hands seeking the shadows behind him.

“Oh, that's what _you_ think!” Monica muttered, launching herself at the wall next to them both, planting a hand on Barksdale's shoulder mid-leap and running on the wall to land behind him. In the shadow.

Furious that his weapons were beyond his reach, Barksdale turned, putting his back to Claire. She scrambled to her feet, pulling out her tazer.

Monica lashed out again, kicking him in the face. Claire saw her chance even before Monica called out, “Claire, now!”

Claire fired. Electricity jolted through Barksdale's body, muscles spasming and then giving out. He collapsed on the pavement between them.

“Ha!” she gloated.

“You did it, girl!” Monica exulted, jumping over Barksdale's body and embracing Claire before she quite realized what was going on. Claire hugged back tightly, tension and adrenaline still running high in her body.

“Never mind me, how did you _do_ that?”

Monica pulled back from the embrace, her face dangerously close to Claire, twinkle in her eyes making Claire's breath hitch.

“What, you never saw the Matrix?”

***

Elle parked her rental half a block down from her target, just like Daddy had taught her. Mid-afternoon light glinted off the broken windows, forcing Elle to narrow her eyes as she looked down the row of abandoned houses – nice, if you ignored the water damage, but too low to the ground and _definitely_ not nice enough to fix rather than abandon. She glanced to the blinking GPS read-out mounted on the dash.

The GPS was courtesy of Pinehearst, who liked to equip their agents a little more comfortably than the Company had. Or just trusted her an eensy bit more with electronics than Daddy had. Either way, the tracking system apparently wasn't quite as destroyed as Hana Gitelman would have preferred – what with that whole “sacrificing her life” thing – and it was still active in a handful of those tagged. Including just one of the Level Five escapees.

Movement outside caught Elle's attention, and she looked back down the street. A boy trotted across the road, weighed down by a laptop bag, approaching the house and entering without knocking.

And that, Elle thought, would be little Micah Sanders. Yep, definitely the right place. And if she was lucky, little miss hero-of-the-people would give Barksdale up without a fuss.

“Well,” Elle said to herself, smirking, rubbing her fingertips to let out a spark, “without _too_ much fuss.”

She met her own smile in the mirror, feeling anticipation sizzle in her veins.

Leaving the GPS behind, she got out of the car, and quickly made her way up the dead and brown lawn of the house she was parked in front of. She made her way back toward St Joan's hide out, walking between unfenced backyards until she got within shouting distance. Then she quieted her steps, creeping forward slowly, alert for any disturbance, power barely leashed as she looked in the window to survey the situation.

The house was sparsely outfitted, with just a ratty couch in the corner and a table where Micah had set up his computer. There was a small, beat up fridge with newspaper clippings stuck to it just beyond the room she was looking into, which had probably been the living room in its previous life.

And closer to Elle, in the open space of the living room, was her target. He was cuffed, but not tied down to anything in particular, just sitting there in the center of the brightly lit room.

_Sloppy_ , Elle thought, attention shifting to Barksdale's supposed jailers.

Dawson entered from the kitchen area, clad in shorts and a tank and with the clear intention of getting some kind of workout right in front of her frickin' captive. Trailing after came – Holy crap!

What the hell was Claire doing here?

A frown creased Elle's forehead as she watched Claire and Dawson stretch, laughter and smiles punctuating their every move. Out of the corner of her eye, Elle saw Micah roll his eyes. The pair rose, and as soon as Dawson's arms circled around Claire, “showing her a move” or whatever, Elle decided it was time to strike.

Claire was _her_ cheerleader.

No, wait. It was the other thing. Right, they were distracted and unprepared, which made this the perfect time to grab Barksdale and run.

Holding the layout of the house in her mind, she sidled around the corner into the backyard. The back door was propped open to allow for airflow into the abandoned house.

Elle licked her lips, bouncing on her heels as she gave herself a mental countdown. Hand clutching lightning, she kicked the brittle wood all the way open and ran into the room.

The kid was the first to turn, eyes wide and surprised – but not fearful – under a fall of black curls. He jumped up from the stretch of floor in front of the computer he'd been tweaking, calling cautiously, “Monica!”

The girls had already turned from their sparring, settling into attack-ready poses.

“Cute,” Elle said, “Which movie did you pick that up from?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Elle?” Claire snapped, glaring fiercely from the other side of the room.

Dawson glanced over at Claire in surprise. “You know her?”

Claire didn't reply, eyes on Elle. Meeting her glare, enjoying the thrill of frustrating little miss perfect, Elle shrugged.

“Same old. Bag and tag,” Elle said, smirk on her lips as she walked sideways toward Micah.

“Oh, too bad,” Claire started, sweetly sarcastic, “but that's already taken care of. No one _needs_ you here, Elle.”

“Because you already caught the baddie, and saved the day?” Elle asked.

Unconsciously, Claire and Dawson's eyes shifted to their prisoner in the center of the room, giving Elle just the opportunity she needed to finally corner the kid. Elle seized the boy by his arm, hauling him up against him, keeping a crackle of electricity right under his chin.

“Micah!” Dawson shouted. “If you _dare_...”

“Can you finish the threat another time, sweetie?” Elle said, “I've got places to be, and we all know I'm not here for the kid, cute as he is.”

Elle moved her hand from from Micah's arm to pinch expressively at his cheek. Micah flinched away, but not far, mindful of the electricity Elle wielded with her other hand.

Claire swallowed visibly, and then walked over to the opposite corner of the room, bending down to pry loose a floor board and fishing around beneath it before coming up with a small silver keychain – and something else, Elle couldn't see what, that she held behind her back. _Ohhh, Claire-bear's got a gun._

Dawson, in the meantime, was trying to edge forward. Elle caught her eye, and brought the electricity closer to the boy, who yelped as a spark lit across to his throat. Dawson halted, her every muscle flexed in anger.

“Why do you want him?” Dawson asked, trying to vent some of her fury. “You just gonna let his loose on _my_ streets again? Because I can catch him any day. This ain't gonna make one bit of difference.”

Elle opened her mouth to respond, but Claire cut her off, throwing a nasty look up at her from where she knelt beside the prisoner.

“It's for Arthur. Elle's going to give him to Arthur, and who'll let him loose on the _world_.”

Dawson shook her head slightly, which Elle guessed meant she didn't really know about the whole big crazy Petrelli family drama slash world conquering scheme. Probably easier not to try to explain.

“Less talk, more giving up your prisoner so the kid doesn't end up a human surge protector, please,” Elle warned, her patience wearing thin.

Claire opened the cuffs with a click, and for the first time, Elle turned her attention to Barksdale himself. His dark eyes held a glimmer of unkind promise, and nothing of gratitude.

“Over here,” Elle directed, a snap in her voice.

Barksdale smiled, rolling his neck and shoulders before rising, eyes still on hers. He tilted his head.

“I don't think so,” he murmured.

In a flash, he grabbed Claire, and Elle felt emotion choking her – anger or worry or jealousy, or something, she didn't really have time to look it up, okay? Elle pushed the kid away raising her hand to fry Barksdale. Over his shoulder, she could see Monica's fists raise.

Just as soon as he had Claire, though, he pushed her away, gun in his grasp.

Falling to the floor, Claire shouted, “Stop him!”

The loud bang of a gun firing rang out, and the room plunged into darkness. Barksdale had shot out the light.

***

Micah was the one who recovered first, pulling a flashlight from his school bag. Monica was hardly surprised by that. The kid damn well had his head on straight. She bent next to Claire, offering a hand to lever the other woman back to her feet, one eye raking over her cousin, making sure he was okay.

“You didn't tell me he could teleport through shadows,” Micah said by way of reassurance, but Monica wasn't fooled. He was tough, had to be after what he'd been through, but there was a shaky undertone to his words. He'd focus on the cool part, the comic book villainy part he could file away as interesting trivia like it wasn't even real, but he obviously knew that their bad guy just make fearing the dark very legitimate. And the guy knew all of their faces.

Monica forced a smile for him. “It didn't come up. Not the best trick, though. We caught him once, and we can get him again.”

He nodded once, before tilting a sardonic look at the hard-faced blonde Claire called Elle. “I'm guessing that wasn't your plan.”

“No,” she gritted back, “that wasn't the plan. And if Cheer-verine over there could keep a grip on her piece, there wouldn't have been a problem.”

“Excuse me?” Claire asked.

At the same time, Monica started, “Yeah? I don't care. You came into my city, into my --” Batcave, “-- hide out, you took my cousin hostage, and you're blaming _Claire_? That is not okay, sweetie.”

She felt more than saw Claire move, stalking forward into Elle's personal space, backing her into the wall.

“So what do you want to do, Monica?” she asked rhetorically. Monica could see the glint of cold steel in her hands and knew Claire already had something in mind. “Should we cuff her, leave her here for Pinehearst to collect while we clean up her mess?”

Blue sparks lit the tips of Elle's fingers, but she didn't bring her weapon to bear. Instead, she let Claire close in, eyes daring her to push her, to get rough.

_She likes her_ , Monica realized, annoyed and relieved at the same time. _Damn, they like_ each other.

And they had absolutely no intention of fighting each other.

Monica shared a look with Micah, wondering how in the hell to get out of this.

“Work for us,” Micah said, suddenly. Elle and Claire finally broke their furious, heated gaze to look over at him. “Help us take the guy down again, and if you tag him first, he's yours. If we get him – um, I mean, if Monica or Claire gets him, then he's ours.”

“So, what, like a competition?” Elle asked.

“No,” Monica said, flashing a look over at Micah. His idea was solid, but no way was she going to work with Elle and spend the whole time waiting for a betrayal. “Like, you work with us,” _Where I can see you_ , “and we hash this out later, because I ain't letting you out there again to just try to steal him back, but if we cuff you and leave you behind you'll just escape and mess things up. I've seen that movie.”

“Okay,” Elle shrugged, looking away. When she turned back, she fixed her bright blue eyes on Claire once more. “What do you say, cheerleader, do we have a deal?”

“Just don't get in the way,” Claire replied, dropping the cuffs at Elle's feet with a loud, metallic clatter and turning to stalk away from her. Monica didn't like the expressions revealed from that angle: Claire, furious and resentful and fairly humming with a need to act, and Elle smirking like she had won this round.

***

Micah tried to blot out the crackling dead-space of Elle at his back and focus on the task in front of him. Electronics didn't have feelings. They weren't _animate_. No matter what his relationship was with them, he knew that. But that didn't stop him from feeling like every piece of technology in the Batcave was carefully edging away from Elle out of self-preservation.

Finally, he turned, raising his hands awkwardly to try to shoo her back.

“Can you just _move_?” he griped, eyes flicking over to Monica for back up. Bringing the crazy electrokinetic sociopath on board may have been his idea, but that didn't mean he trusted her to stay civil. “You're upsetting my computer.”

“Whatever, geekboy. It's my GPS that's going to save your asses,” Elle said, but she did back off. She stood next to Claire, offering a snotty smile.

“We wouldn't _need_ your stupid GPS if you hadn't messed everything up to begin with,” Claire returned with a glare and a clenched fist.

Micah sighed. Yeah, that was distracting and annoying in completely different way. Weren't _they_ supposed to be the mature ones?

Monica gave Claire a steady look, placing her hands on the other woman's shoulder until she visibly relaxed, and then tried to defuse the tension by throwing a question over to Micah, “So how does that all work.”

Micah turned back to his laptop, grinning to himself. Monica had long ago given up trying to understand his power or half the tech jargon he used.

“I patched the GPS locater signal through to my computer, and I'm cross referencing it with the tap on the red light cameras that we used earlier. They're doing most of the work, I'm just refereeing,” Micah said, leaving off, _Because they don't like each other much_. They'd probably take that as an innuendo, or something.

“But how is she GPS tracking a _person_ to begin with?” Claire asked.

Micah heard a rustle of clothing – Elle crossing her arms – and a frisson of electrical tension snap in the air.

“Wouldn't you like to--” Elle started smugly, but Micah cut her off.

He turned again in his chair, looking at Claire while he explained, “There used to be a tracking system, for people like us. Some people, a company, they would inject us,”

“With a radioactive isotope,” Claire whispered. “There was a guy I met once... anyway, I thought my dad shut that down.”

“Guess he didn't get all of it.” Micah shrugged. He knew Hana's side, not anyone else's.

“Not that this isn't interesting, but it's not. Do you people even have a _plan_?” Elle asked. Micah rolled his eyes. Looked like _someone_ didn't appreciate not being the center of attention.

“Oh, like you did when you charging in here, taking hostages?” Claire shot back.

“Elle's right,” Monica said, stepping in to mediate. “We need a plan. If I know anything about Barksdale, it's that he's arrogant. He's not going to hide, he's going to go back to his dealers and get them right back out on the corners. But he's not stupid either, so he's not going to be alone and he's _not_ going to be in the light. So, we need to figure out what to do before we go out there.”

***

The sun was orange on the horizon when they piled into Elle's car. Long shadows took shape on the roads, filling Claire with trepidation as she drove. Monica sat in the seat beside her, giving direction from the GPS and Micah both.

In the rear view mirror, Claire could see Elle slouched in the back, fingers picking at the upholstery obsessively. She clearly wasn't happy about her role in the plan, nor about the moratorium on using her ability while they were tracking Barksdale. Claire knew that Elle normally had excellent self control, but like a little kid, as soon as her toy was taken away, all she could think about was breaking the rules to get it back.

Her behavior was particularly ironic in light of Claire's near-disastrous plane ride with Elle. She remembered the barely perceptible twitches of pain that had accompanied every movement she made. She remembered the hot shock of Elle's power ripping through her skin, the gasping, exhilarating, near-pain of the experience.

“So, uh, I guess Pinehearst fixed you?” Claire blurted, trying to put aside the feelings those memories stirred up.

Elle didn't look up from where her hands as she grumbled, “Good of you to notice, Barbie.”

“Yeah, well, sorry,” Claire said, not entirely sure that she _wasn't_ , “How'd they do it?”

“They treated me like I was more than just my power,” she snapped. “Which, hey, I guess won't work for you, since Miss Invincible really is all you are.”

The words stung Claire, and she glanced over to Monica to see if she was similarly affected. Her expression had softened, but her eyes were still fixed on the GPS, hand still on her ear piece as she pretended to tune them out. Monica offered a half shrug, which Claire interpreted as a sign it was up to her to handle Elle.

“If it makes you feel better,” Claire said, “you can zap me after we catch him.”

Monica's head snapped up at that, turning to look at Claire, but Claire's attention stayed on her driving. She ignored the slightly anxious twitch of her fingers under Monica's scrutiny.

“Oh, you can count on it,” Elle growled back; Claire worked to suppress a smile.

Elle managed to be almost restful for the rest of the journey, their destination fixed and unchanging despite Monica and Micah's early worries that Barksdale might change up on them and try to run rather than finding his boys. Despite her quietude, Claire could tell that Monica hadn't put the conversation between herself and Elle out of her mind. She wished Monica didn't have to see her like that.

They wound up by the docks, parked between rows of warehouses built from sheet metal – so they wouldn't burn again, like after Katrina, Monica had explained. Elle was first out of the car, eager to get started on her part.

Monica laid a hand on Claire's arm, asking, “Hey, can we talk a sec?”

Leg half way out her open door, Claire replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“What Elle said before, about you needing to be fixed... what did she mean? I should know before we go in there.”

“It's nothing. I just, something happened to me earlier this year. And now my power is different. I can't feel pain anymore.”

“Oh,” Monica said, nodding stiffly. She tucked the GPS into her belt, abruptly opening her door. “No problem then. We should go.”

“Are you... You're _mad_ at me?”

Back still to Claire, Monica said, “It's somethin' you could have mentioned earlier. I don't like going into fights blind.”

“Hey, I...” Claire started, but Monica had already gotten out of the car. Swearing under her breath, Claire scrambled out after her, slamming her door and hitting the remote to lock it.

“Hey!” she called, and this time Monica swung around to look at her in irritation, gesturing silently at the bad guy's lair they were, in theory, sneaking up on. “I'm sorry. You're right, you're sort of the leader here, and my Dad always says the team leader needs to know everything about his partners.”

Monica nodded, and then smiled back at Claire, dropping it as easily as that. “Your dad taught you how to do this?”

Claire laughed. “I guess you could say that. And,” Claire felt compelled to explain. Monica's good opinion was too important to her to leave to chance, “just so you know, Elle didn't know about me because I trust her more than you. Life just keeps throwing us together, for whatever reason.”

***

Elle was already at work when Monica and Claire joined her. Electricity arced from her hand to the warehouse. She switched off between hands, taking turns while she built the electrical charge in the metal walls of the building. The cruddy, industrial lamps that hung on the underside of the steel roof began to flicker their yellow light onto the group, cuing them to action.

They would have had no chance in a race against the sun, trying to back Barksdale into a shadowless corner. So they would have to make their own.

“Have you guys noticed that in your little plan, _I'm_ the one doing all the work?” Elle groused.

Monica smiled, confidence was key. “Actually, we did, hon. Did you notice that in _your_ plan earlier, we did all the work?”

Elle grumbled but gave no indication that she was plotting to totally screw them. She was, Monica knew, but it needed to wait 'til later. She had a plan for that.

Monica's smile broke into a smirk as she glanced between Elle, lip caught by her teeth as her faced twisted in gleeful concentration, and Claire, checking and re-checking her taser like her daddy probably taught her. Yeah, she had a plan.

Monica caught Claire's eye, and nodded once before putting her hand to her ear piece.

“Ready to go dark?” she asked Micah.

“I guess,” he replied, sounding far less excited for this part of the plan than he had an hour ago, when they were brainstorming it. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Will do,” she whispered back, pocketing the piece before circling around to the warehouse entrance with Claire. Every time they came to the precipice like this, Monica had to remember that he wasn't really her sidekick, and this wasn't really a comic book. He was her cousin and she was all he really had. All the more reason to get things _right_ on the first try.

On cue, before they could even knock on the door, two of Barksdale's men jumped them.

The one holding Monica was tall and wiry, the kind of man she knew from experience relied on bluster and his gun more than any kind of physical strength. Claire's thug was stockier. He had a nasty scar trailing down his exposed bicep, the kind that could have come from a knife or a broken bottle and spoke a fight where he'd rather keep going until the end than get treatment. He could prove a legitimate threat, Monica assessed, but she was still betting on her side.

Monica's manhandler turned her roughly in his grasp, caressing her jaw almost violently; she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

“Boss said you would be coming. He didn't say how pretty you'd be.”

“Sweetie, that's 'cause you know he don't share. Now take me to see the man I came for, or” Monica, paused, grinning at the charge of anticipatory adrenaline she felt, “there's gonna be consequences for you.”

The man jerked her back around, hands bruisingly tight around her upper arms. Claire shot her a look of concern while the two frogged marched them into the warehouse, and Monica responded with a wink. Claire just shook her head.

Inside the warehouse, it was dim. Only one of the hanging lights was turned up to full power, creating a spotlight that cast the rest of the room into shadow. Expected, but no less worrying for all that. It was hard to make out the forms of Barksdale's gang members, hard to get a count of how many there were. Letting her eyes adjust, Monica could make out movement among the group.

A loud, sudden clank of metal sounded out behind them as Claire's guard dropped her arm and slammed the door shut behind them.

_Okay, step one complete_ , Monica thought. _Step two, aggravate them._

Albert Barksdale stepped in the spotlight, stripping himself of shadow in his confidence, his arrogance. He smiled softly.

“It's good to see you again, Saint Joan.”

Monica scrunched her face up in distaste. She really hated bantering. Still, she had her part to play.

“Wish I could say the same,” she said, shaking off her guard's now loose grip to circle Barksdale.

Five, six more gang member hove came into her view as she did so. That made twelve. Not good odds. She tried to keep her breathing steady.

“I don't know,” Claire called from half way across the warehouse, now partially obscured by Barksdale's bulk, “I'm starting to like him. He made an _excellent_ centerpiece back at your place.”

“You think this is your city, don't you?” Barksdale said. “How could it be? There's always shadows and I,” he paused portentously before stepping out of the spotlight, “blend right in.”

Immediately, Monica dove for the light, tucking herself into a tumble and getting her feet under her. She stayed low to the ground, fingertips skimming the ground as she scanned the warehouse. The pool of light was the only protection she had against Barksdale's power, but it effectively blinded her.

She waited, hoping both Claire and Elle were ready for their parts.

From inside the circle, she heard the sounds of fighting – Claire grunting as punches connected with her body, the muffled groans of Barksdale as he refused to admit she'd hurt him. And then she heard the gathering, almost tactile hum of him gathering his power.

Claire edged into the light, blocking Monica's view and covering her just as Barksdale slashed a blade of shadow through her. Blood dripped onto the concrete before Monica, and then flooded out as Claire collapsed.

_Part of the plan, part of the plan. It's fine, you've seen her power before, it's fine_ , Monica told herself, even as tears stung her eyes. She pulled Claire toward her, turning her over, covering her hands in Claire's blood as she tried to put the torn flaps of skin back together, tried to staunch bleeding that she irrationally feared would stop for all too natural reasons.

She felt Claire's flesh pull out of her hands, and in surprise she scrambled back from the healing process, leaving wet, frightened hand prints on the ground.

Claire inhaled a gasping, coughing breath and sat back up.

On the edge of the light, Barksdale paused. His eyes just visible enough for Monica to see his fear. As one, every gun in the warehouse was drawn.

And, as one, Monica and Claire shouted, “Elle!”

***

Outside, Elle alternated the charge in her hands, pushing the electricity one direction and then reversing flow over the broad, blank canvas of the sheet metal the warehouse was built from. The strain of pushing each electron further each time, before pulling it back almost distracted her from the sounds inside, but somehow she split her concentration enough to hear the call from inside the warehouse.

Time to save the day! She thought, smirking grimly. Except, well, no. Why bother?

Elle pulled her hands back from the metal, considering. Save their lives, capture Barksdale, give him up _again_? What was in it for her? A sense of satisfaction?

Sorry, that might be enough for Bennet's little Pollyanna, but Elle really was looking for more in life. Like... something. She was working on the details, but it _definitely_ didn't include crawling back to Arthur fucking Petrelli empty handed.

A gunshot rang out from inside, and Claire's voice came again, hoarser this time.

Without thinking, Elle threw her full blast at the wall, charge crackling through to the further corner. The walls reverberated with a cacophony of sudden clangs as every gun in the building flew toward a wall, attaching itself and sticking fast.

She'd turned the entire warehouse into a giant electromagnet.

Elle could hear Barksdale's men cry out in panic inside. A few ran to the walls, banging on them and shouting as they tried to pull their guns from her grasp. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw men fleeing from the building, running out from the direction Claire and Monica had disappeared.

“Dramatic entrance, you're on in five!” Elle said, laughing, as she redirected her lightning to melt a hole through the side of the wall.

Red hot steel dribbled down to the pavement, and Elle stepped back while she waited for it to cool – steel capped Ferragamos really weren't in this season – peering into the now exposed interior of the building.

Barksdale's remaining men were hoofing it to the open door, casting a few fearful glances back at the still red circle she'd carved into the wall. Barksdale himself seemed torn between calling the men back, and murdering them on the spot. Claire and Monica, meanwhile, were flexed and ready in the circle of light, Claire's taser already in her hand while they waited for Elle.

They were waiting for _her_. Elle giggled lightly, unable to repress her glee at that thought as she stepped into the warehouse.

Claire shot her a quick look, reassured and pleased to see her. Claire jerked her chin up quickly, and then retrained her focus on Barksdale.

_Time to light it up_ , Elle thought, and then she unleashed a full torrent of her energy, whiting out the entire warehouse in bright, plasmic light.

Elle couldn't see anything beyond the crackling light of her power, but she could hear the sounds of their plan unfolding before her. It was easy to envision Monica's perfectly choreographed kicks and punches, Barksdale's increasingly clumsy moves his inability to use his power enraged him, Claire's careful, silent movements into position behind him.

They'd call to Elle when Barksdale was down for the count again. The idea was satisfying for reasons Elle couldn't quite pin down. Which was weird, honestly, because her job sort of sucked. She was a magnet and a glow stick now? Whatever, Daddy always let her do way more than...

But Daddy was dead and that wasn't really true anyway.

Maybe she wouldn't wait, though, maybe she'd show them they had to treat her as more than her power, had to include her on the fun parts of the plans in the future. Of course, if she stopped early, there would exactly _be_ plans after this, since Monica and little Claire-bear would probably be dead for real.

“Elle?” Claire asked, breaking into her furious thoughts. “Elle, you can stop now.”

Unfurrowing her brow, it was almost more effort to stop the flow of electricity than it was to maintain it. Without it, Elle fell to her knees in exhaustion, like the energy had been propping her up instead of vice versa.

Rather than give her a hand up, Claire kneeled on the floor next her, reaching out a hand to brush Elle's sweaty bangs from her forehead.

“You okay?”

Elle nodded shakily, trying to unblur her vision and find where Barksdale was. The room was now entirely in shadow again, so her efforts were fruitless.

“We won, it's okay. Monica's getting Barksdale to the car. He'll be out for at least an hour, the way she was pummeling him.”

Elle blinked, turning to examine Claire's admiring expression.

“So it was all her? You're not taking credit?” she asked, surprised.

“Well, I did get him in the end with the taser, but this whole thing was pretty much your show and hers.”

Elle heard footsteps behind her, and Monica emerged from the hole Elle'd blown in the wall, offering first Claire then Elle a hand up.

“Are you alright?” Monica asked, peering into Elle face, palm cradling her jaws.

Elle jerked back from her grasp. “Yeah, duh. Why do you keep asking that?”

“Because you kind of look like death, hon,” Monica replied, shaking her head in amusement.

“Well, I'm not. And instead of coddling me, maybe you should look after your prisoner while you still have him,” Elle snapped. “He's going to be mine again soon enough.”

“You're planning on betraying us?” Claire asked sarcastically. “That's more effective if you don't tell us, you know.”

“Yeah, well...” Elle trailed off, forgetting already what justification she had.

“It's okay, Claire,” Monica said, throwing an impish grin at her, “Elle's not going anywhere. She came through for us. We would have died if she hadn't done her part.”

“And _she_ would have died without us. She couldn't even see what was going on while the room was lit up,” Claire added, catching on to Monica's thoughts.

“I still work for Pinehearst,” Elle protested. “I'm taking Barksdale to them! If I don't--”

The rest of her words were muffled, cut off by Monica's lips pressed against her own. They were warm, supple, enticing her to stick around, find out what else they could do together. Monica ran her hand down Elle's arm, and she shivered, swaying out of the kiss.

When she opened her eyes, Claire was staring at the pair in outrage. And jealousy? Was that what jealousy looked like? That's what it looked like on TV.

“Oh. I guess I'll just go check on Barksdale,” she said stiffly, trying to push past Monica, who caught her by the arm and swung her into a kiss.

“Hey!” Elle yelped. That was... okay, actually, that was pretty hot. Elle tilted her head as she watched Claire's mouth open under Monica's, both of them pressing closer enough for their breasts to touch.

They broke apart with a sigh, Claire's arm still looped around Monica's waist, even while her eyebrows were knit in confusion.

“I'm not sure I get what you're doing, Monica,” she admitted.

Monica laughed, and bumped her hip into Claire. She grinned at Elle, while she said, “I'm making sure Elle doesn't leave us. Now, I think it's your turn.”

She reached for Claire's hand, removing it from her waist and nudged her towards Elle. Claire shot a look back over her shoulder, walking cautiously toward Elle.

“This is, um,” Claire started, looking down. Her hands fumbled against her jeans, picking at the stiff blood stains. “This is weird.”

Elle bristled. “Your _face_ is weird, cheerleader.”

“Ya'll are both weird,” Monica called, provoking Claire and Elle both into laughter.

“So?” Elle asked, eyebrow raised, “Are you going to convince me to mend my evil ways?”

Claire's eyes narrowed, and her hands suddenly fisted in Elle shirt, dragging her forward.

“I'll do better than that,” Claire said, right as her mouth covered Elle's.

She wasn't soft, or cautious like Monica had been. Instead she was ruthless, biting and sucking, and _oh god_. Elle's hand clutched hard against the back of Claire's neck, and without quite meaning to, she let off a spark.

Claire jerked back suddenly, not in pain, but in surprise. Her tongue ran over the already fading burn of the spark.

Rather than explain, Elle quipped, “Huh, Petrellis really _do_ all taste alike.”

“I don't think I want to know,” Claire said.

“Your loss,” Elle said, smirking. Claire leaned in again, happy to have found a whole new way of wiping that irritating expression from Elle's face, but Monica cut her off, clearing her throat loudly.

“Not that I don't appreciate the sight... but we've got a car full of bad guy, and a much more comfortable make out spot back at the hide out.”

Monica cocked her head at them pair, and they broke apart ruefully. Yet, any regret was washed from Claire's system when Monica slipped her hand into Claire's – and then her other into Elle's hand – leading them off together.


End file.
